


à coup sûr

by levlinwinlaer



Category: Power Rangers (2017)
Genre: Español | Spanish, F/F, Français | French, Lowercase, Post-War, Slow Burn, Zack Taylor & Trini are Bros, kimberly hart is a princess, pink lemonade - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2018-10-22 16:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levlinwinlaer/pseuds/levlinwinlaer
Summary: and then the princess's pretty pink lips are on hers, and the sword digs into her back, and her world spins and readjusts to kimberly, kimberly, kimberly.or,trini really didn't mean to fall in love with her worst enemy.





	1. we're a battlefield (fighting for love)

**Author's Note:**

> a note for clarification: in this universe, trini's clan is spanish-speaking, and the hart kingdom (kimberly's people) is french-speaking. whenever words are italicised, a character is speaking in their own language. the un-italicised text should be assumed to be a kind of universal language, perhaps a french-spanish creole of sorts. enjoy!

she is captured in war.

knocked out with a sword butt to the head, blood smearing over her forehead. it is just hours before the hart kingdom defeats her clan. it was a long war, at least. her people, her friends, die with chins up, proud of the battles they fought.

she is dragged into the hart king’s throne room with teeth bared and snarling, thrown on her knees. she wears the same clothes from the battle, the regalia of a hundred kills braided into her hair. the blood drips over her eyes, fresh from the guard’s knife.

the king looks at her. ‘and who are you?’

she is silent. _fucking bastard_ , she thinks.

‘speak, girl!’ the guard shouts, digging his boot into the small of her back, and she just laughs in their faces, high and manic and cruel.

‘i,’ she says proudly, from her knees, ‘am trini kwan, hundred-killer.’

the king studies her with scrutinising eyes. ‘she will do. place her in the next battle. she will make a fine gladiator. that is, if she behaves.’

‘i am not your dog,’ trini growls. the guard to her right side kicks her in the face, the steel toe of his boot connecting with trini’s cheek. she sprawls, tasting the familiar copper of blood in her throat. but she stands, despite the guard’s shouts of ‘stay down!’

she catches the eye of a girl, standing by her father’s side. tall and proud. princess kimberly hart.

she spits in their faces, blood splattering over the dais.

‘fuck you,’ she says, and then she is dragged out again. the princess watches her go with a curious expression, then leans in and says something to her father. and then the guard slams his sword down, and everything goes black.

 

she is separated from everyone else, in a tiny cell with no windows. it is dark but for the dim light of the torch, and she paces like a cooped tiger, muscles tense. she loses track of time, eventually, but for the bread and water they shove at her through the bars. they do not open the cell anymore, not since she ripped out the throat of the guard who first pushed the door open.

it is a few weeks, or perhaps a month (she cannot be sure), when she is finally dragged out again. she is brought back to the throne room. there are ten guards around her now, and each of them is wary. she is forced to her knees again.

‘trini kwan,’ the king says. ‘we have made our decision regarding you. we will not keep anyone in our country who has killed a hundred of us. therefore, you shall be hanged in the public square at noon tomorrow.’

trini just smiles, teeth bared. they will make a spectacle of her. an example. but if they are doing this to her, a commoner, it means they have not caught anyone more important. that is good.

 

the guard hands her an extra piece of bread the next morning. she smiles, half-apologetic.

‘i am sorry you have to die,’ she says quietly. ‘you are very young.’

‘we all die,’ trini responds. her voice is croaky from disuse. ‘if i do so for my clan, then at least i have died well.’

‘still,’ she says, and shakes her head.

they sit in silence until there is the rattling of drums. it is a signal to the people, an official beginning to the hanging. it is a call to gather in the square, to watch someone die.

‘wait,’ the guard says, before trini moves to the door. ‘will you- will you teach me how to say something? in your language.’

trini looks at her. ‘what is your name?’

‘amanda.’

‘ _soy amanda_ ,’ trini says. ‘i am amanda.’

‘soy amanda,’ she tries, clumsy but carefully pronounced. trini nods.

the guards come down now, nine more, gathering to take her through the streets. trini hides the piece of bread in her sleeve. amanda nods to her.

they take her up a giant staircase, and then the doors of the castle open and the sun burns her eyes after so long. they walk slowly, for the sake of the curious cityfolk. they wince at the sight of her, covered in dirt and long-dried blood.

they are perhaps ten metres from the hanging platform when trini catches the dark eyes of a little boy with a shock of dark hair, skinny with hunger. he looks painfully like zack, and she stops short. the guards look at her, confused, when she kneels, hands going to their swords. she pulls the extra piece of bread from her sleeve, and reaches out. he steps closer, tentative, and she presses it into his little hand.

‘careful, little one,’ she says quietly, and then nods to him and rises and continues on. the cityfolk murmur.

she strides up the steps. the king and the princess stand to the side, by the executioner. she keeps her head up.

‘one last request,’ the king says. ‘we shall hear it.’

‘yellow paint,’ trini says, and he looks at her for a moment before shrugging and beckoning. a few moments later, a little jar is brought to him. he holds it out, and trini takes it.

it is not quite as rich, not quite as yellow, as the paint back home, but it will do. trini gives it to amanda, then dips both her thumbs in, bows her head, and smears two lines across her cheeks, just beneath her eyes. then she turns to face her executioner.

he loops the rope about her neck, and moves to the lever. she faces the crowd, thinks of zack, thinks of the others who she has fought and loved, and she smiles.

the king’s hand rises lazily, up to above his head, and then-

‘wait!’

a pause. trini looks over, surprised. the king is gaping at his daughter.

‘kimberly?’

she is composed, head held high. she doesn’t look at trini.

‘for my eighteenth birthday, you promised me a wish,’ she says. her voice carries to the crowd, clear and strong- a public statement. he cannot deny her. trini waits, unsure and confused. ‘i would like to make that wish now.’

‘of course,’ he says, quickly gathering his composure.

‘my wish,’ she says, ‘is that trini kwan may be pardoned from death, and become my companion.’

a dreadful kind of silence.

the low voice of the king, angry and fierce. trini's lips twist into a smirk, unbidden.

‘what?’


	2. bodies falling like rain (i miss the springtime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the tunic is yellow, a soft kind of daffodil colour. it smells of cotton and jasmines, and settles soft and loose about her waist. it is perhaps a size too big for her, the sleeves hanging over her hands, but she rolls them up to her elbows. it feels like someone else's home.

__the king pulls his daughter aside, and they have a quick, low talk, words flying between them. he looks agitated, angry. she just looks determined, and finally he slumps.

‘very well,’ he says to the crowd. ‘trini kwan, we pardon you from your death.’

the executioner pulls the rope from her throat, and she steps off the platform. the people around are confused, whispering between themselves, but they part dutifully as kimberly hart lifts her chin, the crown gleaming on her dark head, and steps off the dais.

the guards look confused, but they pull trini aside, unbind her hands, lead her down after the princess. she rubs at her sore wrists and watches the princess nod to her subjects, reaching out a hand to brush theirs. they smile, faces turned to her like flowers to the sun.

the guards take her to a clean room with windows and a cot in the corner. they watch her as she paces and attempts to puzzle out the princess’s thinking.

‘why?’ she asks them, and amanda catches her eyes. she advances closer. ‘i don’t need her pity. i was meant to die for my clan. what the _hell_ does she want?’

‘careful,’ one of the guards warns, and she just laughs in his face.

 

she is brought before the princess the next day, and she walks into the room with shoulders set back.

she means to say something intimidating, something proud and scornful. but the princess pulls her hair from the tie and it falls in dark waves about her back and trini has always been a little weak for pretty girls, so instead she chokes on her tongue and goes silent.

the princess turns to look at trini. her gaze is curious, perhaps, but not fearful.

‘hello,’ she says.

‘why?’ trini asks suddenly, angry. the princess doesn’t seem surprised.

‘because,’ she replies simply, ‘of the bread.’

trini frowns at her, anger dissipating to confusion. ‘the bread?’

‘that you gave to the boy.’

she shrugs. ‘surely, i could not have eaten it.’

‘no,’ the princess agrees, a half-smile ticking up her face. ‘i suppose not.’

‘but why do you want me in your service?’

the smile disappears, replaced with a pensive frown. ‘i- my father. he would not have accepted your release otherwise.’

then she pauses, and quickly changes the subject. ‘you must be hungry.’

‘i will not take food from you.’

 ‘you are suspicious of me.’ the princess notes. ‘do not worry. i would not poison you.’

‘said the poisoner,’ trini retorts, and she laughs, surprised, the sound high and clear.

‘then i shall eat, and perhaps you will, too. rest assured i do not mean to kill you after keeping you from being killed.’

she raises a hand, and a girl comes in, setting a platter of food on the table. cheese, the hart kingdom’s kind, bitter and salty. bread and berries, soup and apples.

the princess eats daintily, in slow, poised movements. she uses a three-pronged fork for the berries, the silver of the platter stained red.

eventually, trini reaches for an apple, then pulls a knife from her sleeve in a smooth motion. the guard at the door starts forward, eyes widening, but she just snickers at him and presses the edge to the apple, making a small incision.

she peels it in a few twists, the red skin falling in curls, and bites into it with a crunch, the juice dripping down her chin. she catches it with one hand, licks her fingers.

she sees the princess’s throat bob, sees her eyes track the motion of her mouth, and grins.

the princess coughs delicately. ‘how did you get a knife?’

‘got it off the guard on the way in,’ trini answers blithely, and out of the corner of her eye she sees the guard’s hand fall, panicked, to his empty sheath. she snorts, hides it in the apple.

there is silence for a moment as she chews, and the princess studies her.

‘what is the paint for?’

unconsciously, trini presses a thumb to the now-dry paint. ‘it is a celebration of a warrior, i suppose. it is hard to explain, but- it means, _may you be the greatest warrior you can_. it is given on the day you are determined to be ready.‘

the princess is leaning forward, her eyes curious, an attentive audience. ‘and the yellow?’

‘the yellow is mine, my clan’s.’ the princess’s brow furrows, and trini is quick to explain. ‘a colour is given to every hundred-killer. i chose this.’

‘does it change the design?’

‘no. everyone has a different one, but the age at which you receive it changes it. the younger you are, the simpler it is. some are practically born for battle. my friend zack, he-‘

and then she cuts herself off, drawing back. there is silence for a moment before the princess changes the subject.

 ‘well. you will want a bath, then?’

trini regains her composure quickly, and then they are back to their little battle of words, each one keeping their guard up. ‘i’d rather have a lake.’

the princess inclines her head. ‘and so you shall have it. i trust you shall not attempt to run? my father is yet deciding our fates.’

‘our?’

‘i believe he intends you to be my bodyguard.’

‘i am no one’s guard.’

‘you do not have to be.’

trini blinks at her, confused. ‘what?’

‘honestly,’ the princess says, with a hint of a smile, ‘i would rather just let you wander. a killer in the castle keeps people on their toes. and, given the turbulent times, i feel as if that is necessary. my father, of course, thinks i should keep you in a cage or something of that sort, but he is soft, so i do not believe that will happen, eh?’

‘you said ‘companion’,’ trini points out. ‘ _la- la compagne,_ i think. what was that supposed to mean?’

the princess blushes, bright red and lovely. ‘i- well- nothing, really. you shall be wanting your…lake. do enjoy it. i must go attend to business.’

trini rises then. the guard holds out a hand for the knife, and she tosses it easily, missing the hard weight in her hand. he barely manages to catch it, paling.

at the door, she turns back a little. she rises from her seat and smiles at her with the soft cheeks of a princess.

‘we shall have to change your guard. i am sure amanda shall be happy to accompany you.’

amanda appears outside the door as if summoned, like a dog at a whistle. ‘so i am.’

‘i could best her easily,’ trini says incredulously, then, to amanda, ‘of course, no harm meant.’

‘yes,’ the princess says, ‘but i am near certain you think of her as the best person in this whole kingdom, no? so if you do run, you will not kill her, i do not think.’

‘thank you, princess,’ amanda mutters under her breath, sarcasm biting, and trini hides a snort.

‘besides, consider this a chance to collect information on the enemy, to know the people in charge. when you inevitably leave-‘ and at trini’s surprised look- ‘i shall not want you here forever; i am sure you will want to go home, and when you do, you shall bring them enough information to topple the king. isn’t that lovely? do enjoy the lake. i’ve heard it’s nice in the summer.’

and then she rises, and leaves through a back door. trini gapes at her, switches her incredulous gaze to amanda, looks back at her.

‘what the hell?’

amanda shrugs. ‘she is a born-and-bred diplomat. i am never really sure.’

‘good to know,’ trini mutters, and then amanda takes her to the lake.

it is a secluded spot on the palace grounds, and trini strips the dirty clothes gratefully from her body and dives in. the cold of the water is jarring for a moment, but it fades, and the cool brush of waves against her washes the dirt and blood from her skin. she surfaces after a moment, and sees amanda, standing over her clothes and holding a knife with a raised brow.

‘what?’ trini asks innocently, kicking to stay afloat. ‘not my fault he doesn’t pay attention.’

‘you palmed it off him twice?’

‘i am a warrior,’ trini says. ‘without a weapon, i am naked.’

‘i would believe that better if i had not seen you tear out a man’s throat with your bare hands.’

trini smiles, teeth bared. ‘yes, yes. it is traditional to know how to fight disarmed. but it is comforting, no?’

amanda shrugs, flips the knife. ‘i suppose.’

she reaches into a pouch at her belt and pulls out a misshapen white bar, before handing it carefully to trini.

‘soap,’ she says. ‘do you-’

trini gives her an unimpressed look. ‘we are not savages. i am well aware of proper hygiene.’

amanda laughs, and then she sits in quiet, facing away from trini as she bathes.

she spends nearly half an hour in the lake, until her the pads of her fingers grow soft and wrinkled, and as she sighs and swims to the banks, someone comes through the clearing.

amanda is on her feet in an instant, sword half-drawn, until a woman comes in with eyes diverted and places a folded stack of clothing on top of a small linen cloth.

‘from the princess,’ she says, and hurries away.

amanda sighs and sits, as trini hauls herself out and pads over to the stack, tugging the water out of her hair. trini catches the sigh, brow furrowing.

‘you are… you are tired?’

‘no,’ amanda says. ‘i- do not speak of this, please, but there is no fondness for the princess in my heart.’

‘why?’ trini asks, pulling on the clean tunic. it is yellow, a soft kind of daffodil colour. it smells of cotton and jasmines, and settles soft and loose about her waist. it is perhaps a size too big for her, the sleeves hanging over her hands, but she rolls them up to her elbows and pulls on the underwear folded neatly on the pile. she steps into the worn cotton pants and tugs them up as amanda sighs.

‘she has done me wrong, a few times. and she is not evil- i am not so foolish as to believe that. but- there has never been anyone with whom she has been- how to say it- _à armes égales_. ‘on equal footing’, i believe is the term? she may have been good, once, but the life of a princess has ruined her.’

‘it will ruin anyone,’ trini says, and returns the soap. amanda shrugs, presses it back into the pouch.

‘still. she is a strange one, yes? and she excels at diplomacy, in a matter such as you excel at battle. one lets down their guard, and you must strike. such is her manner, and i saw your face when she looked at you.’

‘excuse me?’

‘she is a pretty girl, and you seem like the sort who would fall for such a girl.’

trini’s hackles rise; she is wary. ‘what is that supposed to mean?’

amanda just laughs. ‘ah, nothing. perhaps you shall find out.’

trini takes a menacing step forward, but before she says anything further, a messenger scampers into the clearing, wearing the pink sash of a hart kingdom messenger.

he clears his throat, folds his arms behind his back, and recites his message. ‘the king calls trini kwan, hundred-killer, to the throne, to hear her sentence.’

trini growls, deep in her throat. her fists clench, anger hot in her veins. ‘tell him i am not his bitch, and i shall not come at his calling. if he wants me there, he comes himself.’

amanda watches her face contort with curious eyes, but says nothing. she will not understand.

trini may fight the princess, but she will kill the king. she saw him slit her brother’s throat in war, and he will suffer a hundred times what he has done to her.

she promised it to her brother, as he lay on the dust of the battlefield, choking on his own blood. she promised it to his twin as he cried, tears mingling with the blood streaked across his face. she promised it to her mother, as she fell, grief-stricken, on his body. she promised it to her father, as he handed trini her brother’s necklace and told her, ‘go kill for him.’

she promised. the king will live over her dead body, and nothing else.


	3. swords locked and blood spilled

the king looks up when she enters. he glares at her, the lines on his face deepening. trini gives him a mocking smirk and turns, just enough that he can see the knife at her waist.

his eyes go wide, fearful. 'who gave her-'

'tell your guards to be more careful,' trini says. he glowers at the interruption, his hand rising. a guard steps up behind her and reaches for the knife. she twists away in an easy motion. the princess rises beside her father, and trini gives her a cool look.

'i will keep the knife,' she says.

'you are in no position to make demands,' the king spits. the vein on his forehead throbs angrily.

'father,' the princess says. her tone is calm,  _amused_ , even. 'she has come forth to hear her sentence.'

the king is silent for a moment, jaw working. 'you will act as a bodyguard for my daughter, for the next two years,' he says finally. 'a week for every hartland soul you have killed. if you dare turn against her, you will be killed. immediately.'

'you would trust me with your darling daughter?' trini asks mockingly.

'of course not,' the king says, regaining his composure. 'that is why you will have two guards with you at all times. leon and jean.' he raises a hand, and two guards step out from behind him and march toward trini. 'if you make a single wrong move, they have orders to slit your throat.'

the guards step closer, and trini reaches for her knife, tugging it half out of its sheath. immediately, the court goes still. trini scans the room in a quick glance, mapping the path to the king. at least thirty people, almost all wearing frills and lace, throats bared. easy pickings.

'thank you, father,' comes a voice from the throne, 'but they shan't be necessary.' the princess steps down off the dais, and crosses to trini. she tips her head to the side to see the sunlight coming through the window. 'it is nearly time for my lessons. trini, if you would accompany me?'

 _wait_ , trini reminds herself.  _do not be rash. you will get your revenge._

she breathes out, sheathes the knife, and turns on her heel, following the princess out the grand golden doors. leon moves to follow her. without looking, she palms a ceremonial dagger off one of the ambassadors, and tosses it hard over her head. the shriek that comes from the king soothes the sting to her pride.

the princess slows her walk as trini draws near.

'you purposefully antagonise him,' she notes. 'it will come down harder on your head.'

trini does not respond.

'i understand,' the princess says carefully, 'that sometime within the next two years, i will wake to become the queen.'

there is silence for a moment, but for the gentle thump of the princess's footsteps against the marble floor.

'not yet,' trini says.

the princess turns and smiles at her, and trini blinks at the flash of teeth behind pink lips, footsteps stuttering for a moment. she really is far too pretty for anyone's good.

'there is a dance tonight,' she continues, as if trini has not just promised to kill her father. 'you will be there, i am sure?'

'i do not want to.'

'ah, ah,' the princess says, sounding as if she is scolding a child. 'there will be diplomats there, from your clan. i will allow you a moment with them, if you come.'

trini grits her teeth. 'fine.'

'good,' the princess says, then stops in front of a door. 'my lesson,' she says, almost apologetically. 'do be careful of my father, please. you are a most fascinating creature, and i should hate to have him order you dead.'

trini tips her head. 'is there really anyone in this land who could kill me?'

'one, perhaps,' the princess says. 'you may meet him tonight. he is a favourite of my father's.'

'i look forward to it,' trini says with a savage smile.

'mm,' the princess agrees. 'so do i.' she pauses, just before pushing the door open. 'the gladiators live but a stone's throw from the east courtyard, if perhaps you should like something to do.'

trini raises an eyebrow, and the princess smiles at her, slipping inside the door.

' _hello, madame_ ,' she says as she closes the door behind her, and trini scoffs, turning on her heel.

 

the gladiators' quarters are vast in differences. some are lavish and stocked with accolades, and some are small and spartan. just steps away is the entrance to the enormous stadium, its walls tall and pretentious and unnecessary. an accurate reflection of the hart kingdom, trini thinks to herself, and snorts in derision.

' _hey!_ ' comes a shout. trini turns to see a burly man, standing at the door to one of the larger homes. ' _who are you?_ '

trini frowns at him. he looks at her in incomprehension, before realisation dawns.

'you dun speak the hart tongue, eh?' he asks. his accent is thick with another land's tongue, and she shakes her head.

'aight, well, who are ya, stranger?'

'trini,' she answers, and his eyes go wide.

'hey, yer the one who almost got 'anged, yeah?'

trini frowns. 'what- what is 'anged?'

'hanged. chopped off. ya know,' and he mimes slitting a throat.

'oh. yes. that was me.'

'well, i 'eard that the princess saved ya. so tell me now,' and he pauses in suspense, 'is she pretty?'

trini flushes red. the man grins at her knowingly.

'that good, eh?'

'no! i don't-'

'aw, 's all good. o'er back where i come from- cransland, i dunna if ya heard of us- we got loads of pretty sorts. my hubby- you'll 'ave heard of him, 'e's famous round these parts- 'e's a real pretty baldwin, ya know what i'm sayin'?'

trini gives him an uncertain smile, unsure of about half the things he's said. he looks at her for a moment before letting out an enormous grunt and stepping closer, one hand rising. she pulls out a knife, and he stops in his tracks, stepping back.

'aw, blimey, where are me manners? i'm kieran, out from cransland. you've prolly heard o' my son. his name's billy. billy cranston.'

'billy-' trini's brow furrows. she's heard the name before, surely. 'billy, as in billy cranston? the angel's saint?'

'got it in one!'

'but if he's your son, how are you-' she gestures at the gladiator barracks- 'and married? his mother-' she frowns, 'she's passed, hasn't she? i'm sorry.'

kieran just grins. 'nah, it's good. his mum, she's the queen and such, so she's gotta stay there. she's gotta queen consort and a king consort, so i sent her a letter 'bout james,' he jerks his thumb toward the barracks, 'and she said 'twas all good. she reckons havin' so many parents is good for a kid. more people to love, 's what she likes to say.'

'ah,' trini says.

'come on in! i'm sure james'd love to meet ya!'

'uh- alright-' and he propels her inside.

'james!' he shouts. 'james, where're ya-'

' _kieran, what's this damned racket?_ ' comes some grumbling, and kieran grins cheerfully.

'come on out, james!' he says. he says 'out' like 'oot', trini notes.

'who,' james says, 'is this?'

if kieran was big, james is  _enormou_ _s_ , his bulk bigger than the door, packed with sinewy muscle and fat.

'trini,' she says.

'the hundred-killer,' he rumbles. he is hartland, so what she has done likely weighs heavier on him than kieran.

he steps closer, and her hand falls to her knife. he is big enough, and in close enough quarters, to kill her. a knife would inflict naught but a scratch against a bulk like that.

'you are young, surely,' he says. 'how old?'

'nineteen.'

'so you have barely been fighting for a year.'

'yes.'

'and a hundred of my people killed.'

'yes.' a hundred and two, now, but that would scarcely endear her to him.

he leans in, very, very close, so close that she can see the stubble he missed while shaving. 'i know the princess well, have known her since childhood. i will not allow it to become a hundred and one.'

'come, now,' kieran says. his voice is still cheerful, but with a sharp undertone. 'let us not kill our guests, james.'

james snorts, but backs away, pressing his mouth to kieran's cheek. he reaches for a bottle- wine, likely- and drinks.

'james!' kieran says, batting it away.

'i want,' james says, turning to her, 'to fight you.'

'i will not be made a spectacle of in front of the hart king,' trini snaps.

james laughs, and he is abruptly at ease. 'i suppose we are both slaves to ourselves, then. and i do not want to do it in the stadium. just here, in the courtyard. i will give you a sword.'

kieran sighs, brow furrowing. 'stop inciting violence.'

'no, no,' trini says, locking eyes with james. 'i will fight you.'

he grins, sharp and dangerous. 'excellent.'


	4. the symmetry of open fire

james gives her a smaller sword, one matching her bulk. he wields a giant longsword, taller than trini. no shields, no holds barred. only one rule- not to the death. it is over when the seventh blood is spilled, or when someone gives in. trini knows already that this will end with the former.

they stand twenty paces apart in the dusty courtyard, trini's eyes wary. he watches her with much the same expression.

a crowd has gathered, kieran at the front. the hartland gladiators jeer at trini, but most of the rest are silent. simply observing. some are townspeople, too. as trini scans the crowd, she sees a shock of dark hair. the boy, from yesterday. he's surrounded by a gaggle of other children, but trini catches his eye, and smiles.

'hello,' she says to him. his eyes go wide.

' _bonjour_ ,' he responds shyly. he still looks painfully thin, gangly in the stage between child and adult.

james interrupts. ' _en garde_ ,' he says loudly, and trini turns back to him, sword rising in a ready stance.

'you may begin,' kieran declares.

james moves first. he's fast, unexpectedly so, and his blade slashes in a wide arc. trini's caught by surprise, and she doesn't dodge far enough to avoid a glancing cut on her left shoulder.  _first blood_ , to james. the crowd cheers. she has to be faster.

james' face is hard, unyielding. he's taller and stronger than she is, and faster than she'd expected. but she is a hundred-killer for a reason.

this time, when he swings- this time from the other side, with both hands- trini takes a second to calculate, before she's jumping, over the arc of the sword, and slicing his cheek open with a quick flick of her wrist. she lands just as he punches out, and catches part of the blow in her left shoulder, burning at the cut and knocking her off balance. he takes the opportunity to leave a gash on her thigh.

trini stumbles back, but catches herself easily. james is circling, ever-so slightly. she frowns, brow furrowing. he's not stupid enough to rush for an attack he can't follow through on, unlike some others. so that leaves a feint, enough of a move to draw the heavy sword over to one side, or a direct attack. 

a feint, then. trini leaps, hard and abrupt, to her left side, and again the sword flies in an arc. she steps back enough to let the sword pass by her, and while its momentum yanks james to the side, she slices a thin line against his bared shoulder blade. they're even now. two for two.

james winces slightly when he rises, motion pulling the wound open, but he shakes it off well enough. his stance now is more open, easier to move. trini knows he won't be slashing again. this time, he lunges for her, sword outstretched. she rolls under it, smacks it up with her sword, and steps closer, just as his foot slams into her chest, tossing her backwards like a rag doll. she goes flying, and lands in a roll which puts her back on her feet. the wind is knocked out of her- she'll need a moment, and he takes advantage to launch a flurry of stabs that she barely dodges, until one nicks her cheek. three to two.

she steps back, wipes her cheek off.  _faster_ , she thinks.  _just be faster_.

he advances again, swiping low to make her jump. with another hand, he punches out, but she dodges quickly, dropping into a crouch and stabbing upward. she catches him in the stomach, just barely, but it counts. three to three.

this time, she attacks, in a careful swipe designed to make him block. he surprises her. with one hand, he grabs her sword by the blade, blood dripping from his closed fingers, and yanks it out of her grip and tosses it behind him. three to four, but her weapon is gone, and drawing blood is difficult to do with your bare hands. trini will make do, though.

he brings down his sword in a hard, damning arc, and she dodges easily, and sprints toward him. he spins, yanking his sword toward her, but she just spins with him, and leaps in a sudden, graceful movement. her hands lock onto his shoulders, fingers digging in, and then she sinks her teeth into the soft babylike skin at the side of his neck and tastes blood.  _three to five._  at that he grunts in pain, and manages to get a hand against her stomach to shove her, sprawling, into the dirt.

she spits his blood out into the dust, and scrambles to find her sword, thrown somewhere near her, but she's not quite fast enough to block the stab into her calf, not to the bone but still a little too deep for a friendly fight. she barely clamps down on the scream bubbling in her throat, and finally her scrabbling fingers grip the handle of her sword.  _four to five._

he swings, a high, slow arc that she knows he wants her to duck. instead, she reaches up to block, and once she gets her sword above his, she pulls down. it's a tiny opening, but she slashes his shoulder just before he throws her sword off his.  _four to six_.

he's angry, now, but instead of being stupid he channels his anger into a burst of quick, incisive jabs that make her dance backward. slowly, he backs her into a corner.

' _tu vas triompher_!' comes a shout from the booing crowd-  _the boy, it must be_ - as james lunges at her open throat, but- an opening- she flings herself forward, her blade quicksilver, and pierces his shoulder.  _seven_.

abruptly, it's over. she's won. james stops the swing of his sword, and grips his shoulder instead.

'shit,' he says, but it's not angry, just pained. he reaches out to grasp her hand. 'well fought.'

'you as well,' trini says. he smiles, slowly, and she smiles back.

'indeed an excellent battle.'

everyone in the crowd goes silent. trini turns, slowly, and meets the eyes of the princess.

she looks delighted, mouth curving up in a satisfied smile. she wears a dark cloak, but the hood is off.

'your lesson,' trini says, still somewhat shellshocked.

'oh, yes,' the princess says, waving it off, 'the second i heard that my dear james had challenged a girl barely half his size, i realised there were much better things to do than talk to some dusty tutor.'

'your majesty,' kieran booms. he's the first to kneel. everyone quickly follows his lead, except trini, whose eyes narrow.

'kneel,' james hisses.

'no need,' the princess says, laughter dancing in her eyes. 'trini is my companion, james. someday she might kneel, though, no?'

'i will never kneel for you,' trini says sharply.

the princess smiles even wider. 'we'll see.'

trini's eyes narrow. 'care to explain what exactly you mean, princess?'

'no need,' the princess says, waving her off with irritating ease. 'you'll find out soon enough. for now, we have a ball to attend, so you lovely crowd will have to excuse me and my companion. i have someone for you to meet.'

trini meets her eyes and lifts her chin, refusing to move.

'oh, come on,' the princess says, looking more satisfied than irritated. 'james, would you do me a favour?'

james bows low, rising from one knee. 'certainly, your majesty.'

trini backs away at the smirk on his face, but james grabs her under the arms and picks her up like a squabbling child, flinging her over his broad shoulder and sprinting in the direction of the castle, the princess following behind. trini flushes with humiliation.

'let me down,' she threatens.

'you heard the princess. you've a party to attend,  _la petit pétard_.'

trini rears a foot back and kicks him in the soft flesh of his solar plexus. the kick empties his lungs, and she slides out of his grasp easily, landing next to the princess, who dismisses him with an amused smile.

'firecracker,' she says. 'it's a good nickname, i think.'

trini glares, reaching out and curling her fingers in the princess's cloak. the silk slides soft and smooth under her fingers, but she knots it in her hand and yanks the princess closer.

'i'm not your friend,' she says, mostly calmly.

the princess' eyes flick deliberately to her mouth, cataloguing her face, before finally meandering back to her gaze. the tips of trini's ears go red at the scrutiny- at this close of a distance, the princess is more girl than royalty, more attractive annoyance than mortal enemy.

'i know,' she responds finally. 'i like you that way.'

her words, delivered with the slightest hint of innuendo, serve to just make trini blush deeper. she glares, but the princess' gaze is like molten honey, mouth curved in a suggestive smile.

trini lets her go, shoves her back a little for good measure before she storms off toward the castle.  _the hanging might have been a better option_ , she thinks to herself.

undeterred, the princess chases her down. 'your wounds,' she says, a little more serious. 'i'll call a healer-'

'no. i'll do it myself.' trini increases her pace, but the princess has longer legs.

'don't be an idiot,' the princess says. 'if you fall ill, what shall i ever do without you?'

trini stares at her for a moment before scoffing and near-sprinting away.

the princess watches her go, and smiles to herself.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr @dreamof1698 if you're trimberly garbage like me


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